


Touch

by ClassyFailure



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dream Bubbles, F/M, jade is dead, karkat is a hardhead, mild make outs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:36:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2729234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyFailure/pseuds/ClassyFailure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frogs croaked from their little hiding spots in the knee-high grass. Crickets hopped and avoided being dinner, humming and chirping, on the hunt for their one-nighters. The nighttime orchestra picked up, your head fell back and your eyes fixated on the growing intensity of the electric sky. Everything was so alive. </p><p>“Holy fuck, it’s actually you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

You twirled on your heels and all the feeling went away from your fingertips.

 

You had been dead for some time (though, there wasn’t much concept of time here, and you didn’t exactly know _how_ long you had been dead, but the bottomless feeling of pure empty that sucked at your chest told you you were dead and would stay dead for a very long time.

 

In the afterlife, you were losing your sense of touch. It was one of those trans-dimensional things that never actually made the transfer over. You could still taste, somewhat. However all the food to be offered, painted by the gods with bright shiny juicy paints and perfumed with tummy-rumbling goodness were all so very grossly bland. Sound still carried its way through your tiny ears (really, they were very small and you could not wiggle them like John and his Dumbo ears could!!) but nobody spoke much here because most of them were still terribly wary of you after you fell from the sky all a-green and a-glow. You had yet to meet the other trolls and were not in the mood to seek them out- not even for science! Being dead took a real toll on you emotionally.

 

Your butt was planted on some plants. One place you didn't mind losing feeling was on your ass. It wasn’t very round, wasn’t very soft, and was not the greatest seat around. The suffering flowers and crushed grasses substituted for what you lacked in the stuffin’ department. Maybe one day you’d find a way to concentrate all the feeling loss to your behind, and just sit wherever you damnwell pleased without your glutes wearing down so easily.

 

Overhead, puffy pink clouds climbed. Got bigger, smaller, like big sleeping cotton balls. Behind the cotton candy fluffs, a canvas of orange and purple and salmon started to fade back, the night stars flickering to life as some minor god plugged in the universe’s night lights.

 

Frogs croaked from their little hiding spots in the knee-high grass. Crickets hopped and avoided being dinner, humming and chirping, on the hunt for their one-nighters. The nighttime orchestra picked up, your head fell back and your eyes fixated on the growing intensity of the electric sky. Everything was so alive.

 

“Holy fuck, it’s actually you.”

 

Your ears rang at the sound of another voice - it’d been so long since anyone had been close enough for you to hear them, and against the smooth blend of nature’s song a voice, human or troll, sounded rough and out of place. You pushed yourself up onto your shoulder, little grains of pollen and crumpled grass blades clinging to the back of your unbrushed hair. Over your shoulder, in the quickly dimming light, was an easy 5’4” of angry grey troll. His hair was unkempt and thick as a wet mop. His eyes were scrunched together, the creases over his nose sure to be permanently planted there for the rest of his alien life.

 

“Oh. Hey Karkat. Have a seat.”

 

He pulled back, recoiling at your offer. “What the fuck, Harley? You went and died nearly a perigree ago and you fucking offer me a seat like i’ve waltz into a luncheon. Sure, Lady Jade, let me have a seat, pass the boiled leaf drink and a damn cookie.”

 

“If you just came to be insulting you can leave” You turned up your nose and humphed, letting gravity hug you again as you slammed back into the ground. He shuffled on his feet for a fraction of a second before joining you on the warm ground. Easy. He was soooo easy.

 

The wind picked up a little, your skirt blew around your knees, pushed the grass back and gave you a better view of the field from your cozy little makeshift bed. He cleared his throat, starting to speak, and cut himself off, muttering under his breath. You bit your lip, chewed, and stared vacantly upward, waiting for him to open his stubborn mouth.

 

You guessed that it was up to _you_ to be the gentlewoman here.

 

“You found me. How come?”

 

“That’s a stupid question.”

 

You rolled your eyes, laughing. It felt good to give the old chords a stretch. You wiggle your toes, which are free and snuggled in the grass, and don’t feel a thing. You must be pouting, because Karkat extends a hand, places a finger on your lips, and moves it up and down like dad’s do to crying toddlers. You roll on your side and laugh - laugh so hard until your damn gut hurts. He chuckles, warm and softer than the ant feet marching on the ground.

 

“Glad I could be of some use” he says, trace laughter in his throat. You push yourself back up, sitting beside him, only an inch shorter, your long hair frozen in time to the middle of your back. It’s knotted from being on the ground so long. It haloes you in frizz. He pushes back some rebellious strands behind one of your ears, and you can’t help but notice his nails are made with the weirdest sort of yellow stuff. You snatch it up, (for science!) and push your glasses up the bridge of your nose, getting a closer look. Strangely, he doesn’t object. How out of character! You were braced for something fun.

 

“Never seen a _nail before_?” he does ask, arching a fuzzy thick eyebrow like he’s smug or some shit.

 

“Sure, i’ve seen human nails.” You will not play along.

 

“Is this a little ritual of yours? Cop a feel of my phalanges? That really jostle your human bits?”

 

“Did you just make a sex joke?” You mouth sort of ‘o’s a little around the corners, a breathless scoff bouncing off the back of your dry tongue.

 

He pulls his hand away and covers his face, his upper lip curling and his pointy little teeth grinding together. “Yeah,” his voice hits a high, embarrassed pitch and it is ** _adorable_**. “Yeah I was just. You were just. It was bad yeah fuck i’m just.” He gets on his knees, brushing off his perfectly flat ass. You could hardly enjoy a show so lacking. In fact, you hardly enjoy it so much that you don’t notice you’ve been staring for several minutes until he waves a hand in front of your face.

 

“I can come back with a camera, if you want to stare for so long.”

 

You snap back into the moment, and are (lamely) quick to respond with sticking your tongue out at him.

 

“C’mon, Harley. You were checking me out.”

 

“Karkat,” you rise to your knees as well, pushing your glasses up, again, “you are as flat as glass. I don’t need to stare.” He gives you a little smile at that, and the faintest crater dips in his cheek. You lose your shit.

 

“Oh my god. You have dimples!” His personal space is now your own, and your hands senselessly poke into his cheeks. “Excuse-” he tries to object once, twice, fussing back and forth with you about the importance, and level of cuteness, involving dimples, and only succeeds by grabbing both of your wrists.

 

“You have. Dimples. Karkat. _Dimples_.”

 

His glare is golden, you really need a camera. His eyes, tarpits in a field of whatever the fuck is that shade of yellow, have irises that are beginning to rust. His breath, coal hot, hits the tip of your nose, down to your chin. You are very close. It takes a few minutes to register, and then his pot of frustration -sexual or not- which has been sitting on the backburner awhile, boils over. He lets go of your wrists, moves himself back a little, and rolls his eyes. A black curtain of bangs fell in his face, you doubt he notices.

 

Time, again, passes between you two. Questions hang in the air. A farewell passes through both of your minds, you’re sure, but is never said. He sits back down, you follow.

 

“What’s it like, Jade?”

 

He’s said your name. After hearing “Harley” fall out of his mouth so much you’d figured he had forgotten after all this time of your being a ghost. You know what he’s asking about, too. It’s clear. For a shadowy moment your brain fogs up, you can’t speak, and it is hard to pull together the past (whatever the hell a perigree is) of memories.

 

“I can’t feel anything.” You say, heavy-tongued and dry of throat.

 

He responds by giving you a playful punch in the arm. Right back you throw a hard hook. He winces, long and drawn out, layering on the wimp butter as thick as he could. You both laughed, and it felt so good to laugh like that. A big laugh that started in your gut and bubbled to the surface and it just felt good. His laugh was light, boyish and squeaky, his gangly teeth a full flash of light in the dark.

 

“No, no,” you said through dying giggles. “When you die, you like, lose your sense of touch. It starts in my fingers, and I guess it’ll go further down my arm. My toes, too. I can’t...feel...” you exhaled, the conversation was spiraling downhill.

 

“Don’t die, Karkat. It fucking sucks.”

 

“Didn’t plan on it, Harley.”

 

“Say my name again.”

 

He raised one perfectly bushy eyebrow in confusion, his mouth hanging open. “Harley?” he asked, unsure of purpose to your demand.

 

Your hand, fingertips numb, reached up to hold on to the strong build of his square jaw. You held your hand there, fingers unable to pick up the small prickles of black stubble that was beginning to dust his chin. “My name, Karkat,” you whispered the foreign name with it’s alien syllables, your tongue heavy in your mouth. The boy had to be as dense as a lead blanket. Or incredibly shy. He stumbled, speaking, sputtering excuses to leave that he never made past the first syllable. “Karkat,” the name floated off of your lips, light. Inviting.

 

“What are you getting at?” He asked, radioactive red beginning to bloom in his cheeks. So he wasn’t totally dumb after all.

 

“Listen,” you pull your hand away. The whole motion was so sudden, you can understand his confusion. “It’s kind of painfully obvious we have a thing. A _thing_ thing.”

 

“Oh, Jade, come on--”

 

“There we go,” you stopped him, pushing your lips together. You were always the type to start things. Getting what you want. Kissing him was so weird, so foreign and strange. His lips were soft, but like, how could you put it. You couldn’t put it, couldn’t describe it. It was like soft leather, worn leather; kissing him was like kissing the softest leather. And it wasn’t bad. He kissed you back, purring, and you tried not to giggle because the hard set of his brow and the squint of his eyes told you he was totally in the zone, totally serious about this. You noticed that he was letting off some sort of musk. It was earthy, spicy, and hot. Even if the pheromones were alien, they were surely getting to you.

 

“Fuck, Jade,” his voice vibrated against your lips.

 

“What?” you were dizzy. You weren’t the kissing expert, and had stupidly forgotten to breathe. He looked pretty much the same: confused and lightheaded and just grinning like a fucking idiot.

 

It was so strange, how much he was making you feel. It was insane, the sudden pulses of emotion and sensation that just shocked you almost back to life. You started playing with his hair. He laughs.

 

You two pull back together, to kiss. Wow, wait, how the fuck did this shit start happening? Literally five minutes before you two were awkward and stupid and unsure. Now, you two were sliding down, your back to the grass, his denser body and heavier muscle mass sort of crushes you at first, until you shift yourself to get more comfortable. You honestly have no idea why things are moving so fast. You’re nervous, but you love it because it means you’re _feeling something_. 

 

He goes fuzzy, and your heart stops. Again.

 

“What?” He’s asking the air. He glitches, in and out. He’s waking up. You grab at his hands, not feeling and not grasping because he’s waking up. He’s leaving the dream bubbles. Your whole body jerks up as he just vanishes.

 

“Karkat!” You yell. Nobody answers. You let your body slide back onto the ground. What parts you can feel have gone cold again.

 

 


End file.
